Christmas was done. Well technically there were still three hours left of the day but Dan considered the holiday finished for another year, which was a relief. He was also quite proud. The chicken had been more than edible, the vegetables had tasted like vegetables but in a good way, and the gravy had turned it all from a simple meal to a delicious Christmas feast. And Harry had turned up with a homemade plum pudding from his mother and had made the most delicious brandy custard Dan had ever tasted and the day had been declared a thorough success.

Jones had been so full of nervous excitement he'd barely sat still, hugging anyone he could get his arms around and not letting go of his kitten except to use the loo. He'd put together a simple mix to play for the day as well and when Claire walked into the house and heard it she'd been downright confused until Jones hobbled over, gave her a tight squeeze and told her,

"It's ambient, Claire. I do know about other kinds of music, I just happen to like the noisy sort. Merry Christmas!"

Jones' cuddly zeal had been catching and Dan found himself hugging anyone who came into the kitchen, which had made his mother laugh, even as she'd teared up, and made Claire feel even more uncomfortable. Harry didn't seem to care, though he was getting the matey, one arm around the shoulders type hugs and Claire was getting the 'squeeze your little sister until she squeaks and has to readjust her bra' type of hugs but Dan was too high off Jones' Christmas cheer to stop.

When Jones' eyes began to droop during dessert Dan had ordered him to the sofa and his mum had gone too, so that Jones wouldn't feel like he'd been sent from the table like a naughty child, though Dan had suspected an ulterior motive. When he brought her uneaten dessert and a cup of tea out a few minutes later and saw that Jones had fallen asleep with his head in her lap, and the look of utter delight and affection on his mum's face, he couldn't help but smile back.

Stardust had climbed up too and so Dan left his mother, sipping her tea and blinking back happy tears as she alternated between patting the kitten and the man she had already started referring to as her son-in-law.

And when Jones woke up again he'd made them all listen to his music which, Dan had to admit, he'd been nervous about. But it was beautiful. His dad had loved it, which had been a shock, but they'd all been informed that Jones' theory on fragmented sound and musical chaos was the basis of his latest research project and Jones had beamed, his cheeks red from sleep and the small amount of brandy he'd had and sheer joy at being with a family at Christmas.

Dan had listened hard to the music as well because he knew it was something Jones had been working hard on. Jones hadn't really ever used a computer in the creation of his music before. He had used one to record finished pieces and convert them to mp3s but this new piece was different. Dan wanted to call it a composition but he wasn't sure whether Jones would be happy with that, though that was what it was. It was a seamless piece of music that seemed to sum up their lives at Hornsea completely but which also encompassed their lives leading up to their move to the shack as well. The beat was strong but there was something pensive about the music that softened it too and every now and then 'Rock'n'Roll Suicide' would fade in and out, like waves on the beach, though Jones' actual recordings of the waves were woven in as well. Jones had held his hand as the music played through and Dan knew that Jones had created this music for him, as a gift, and that letting other people hear it had been hard.

It was only a sample piece. Jones had no intention of forcing them to sit and listen to all thirty seven minutes of his creation but it was enough to show Dan's parents, and Claire and Harry, what Jones was capable of and Dan felt proud. Then his mum had started talking about crocheting while his dad started asking Harry about his new job and Dan had made a quiet exit.

And now he was out on the porch, wrapped in his coat and the new woolen hat, scarf and fingerless gloves Jones had made for him, smoking a cigarette beside Claire, who was dressed in almost identical woolen accessories.

"You did well today," she told him, looking out over the inky sea, and Dan nodded his thanks, staring out toward the low wall that had become Jones' favourite place to sit over the last several weeks.

"Thanks. You too."

"Me?" she scoffed. "I didn't do anything, Dan. How drunk are you?"

"I'm not," Dan growled back. "One glass of wine and the brandy in your boyfriend's custard aren't enough to even make me tipsy and you know it, so don't be bitchy. I was trying to give you a compliment."

Claire just looked up at him with her eyebrows raised disbelievingly and blew out her cigarette smoke in a thin stream from the corner of her mouth and Dan considered dropping the topic completely in the face of her obvious sarcasm. Except that he knew that even when Claire talked hard she was still just an overachieving teenager underneath it all. For some reason she had always believed that Dan was better loved than her, and more intelligent and successful as well. He couldn't fathom how she could come to that sort of conclusion but Claire was just a bit weird, so he took a deep breath and tried again.

"You've put up with people hugging you all day. You've put up with dad telling you what a catch Pingu is in as many ways as he can in a not particularly subtle attempt to tell you that you should marry him before he can get away." Claire huffed and Dan knew that she'd noticed it as well and that the very thought of it made her uncomfortable. "And," he continued. "You've put up with Jones being... extremely enthusiastic all day, which I know you aren't partial to. Not to mention mum treating him like her favourite child. You haven't yelled at anyone or thrown any breakable items at the wall or snuck off to the loo with a bottle of port, which is a huge improvement on our last family Christmas. So, well done."

Claire gave him another dark look but he could tell that she was pleased to be given any sort of compliment by her bother and she blew out her next plume of smoke in a self-satisfied sort of way. He was about to keep talking, to tell her that her hair was looking nice or something, but Claire, as usual, managed to spoil the moment he was trying to build.

"Why is he just so... hyper?"

Dan tried not to be offended because Claire wasn't good at delicate questions but he needed to defend Jones.

"He's not really," he said, flicking his cigarette butt out into the darkness, breathing in the thick scent of the wet sand and icy wind. "He is sometimes but today was more because he was nervous. Most Christmases it's just been him and me and we didn't really celebrate. Before that... he probably hasn't had a family Christmas since before his dad died - I haven't really asked because quite frankly I don't need to know if he doesn't want to tell me - but seriously, Claire, does Jones strike you as the sort of person who's used to being doted on or given presents? Besides," Dan turned to look at her, frowning at the defiant jut of her jaw in preparation for being told off. "He experiences life differently to you and me. Leave him alone."

"What d'you mean, different?" Claire pressed, completely failing to acknowledge Dan's order to drop her line of questioning.

"Just different," Dan sighed, taking a deep breath to clear his lungs and give himself time to think. "He... sees colours differently. And music and sound, he sees the colours in them too. And he feels it, music and rhythms and the way he describes it - like magic. Image seeing colours in the sound of raindrops or feeling the music of a misty day's light playing on the back of your hand. The colour of the sound of sand being swept through long grass... And he makes stories out of sound as well, that's what his music is! it's just... I don't know," he mumbled, his words petering out. "Just different."

The silence crept around them, like frost settling in the darkest hours before morning, but Dan didn't know what more to say. Claire finished her smoke and flicked the butt away in an exact imitation of his earlier action and Dan wondered how many of the mannerisms he noticed in his sister were actually things she had learned from him. With no excuse to be out in the cold Dan began to feel awkward about standing outside, but before he could make a move Claire started talking again.

"Speaking of noise... I accidentally overheard you this morning."

Dan tried to inhale and swallow at the same time but managed neither and began to cough violently in response to Claire's blunt statement.

"What?" he wheezed but Claire just shrugged and wrapped her arms more tightly around her waist.

"This morning, when I came to drop off that cat you gave Jones," she told him, staring resolutely out at the ocean. "I knocked but you two obviously didn't hear me and it was raining so I stepped inside and well, you two were..."

"Oh, God!"

"I tried to leave again," Claire told him, a little too loudly for his liking. "But the door slammed and that's when you realised I was there."

"But that didn't happen until after we..." Dan tried to yell at her and whisper so they weren't overheard at the same time and his voice came out as a hiss that just sounded terrified. Why did this keep happening?

"Yep," was all Claire said.

"So you heard..."

"All of it," she nodded. "Or most of it. The important part anyway."

"Oh, God!" Dan repeated, running his fingers through his hair. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Dunno," Claire shrugged. "Because I don't like suffering alone?"

"Well, thanks," Dan huffed, loading his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

"You're welcome," she told him tritely and Dan felt the old urge to wring her neck returning. "You certainly sounded like you were having fun."

Dan took a deep breath and counted back from ten, calming his anger so that he didn't just yell at her. If he yelled everyone would hear and want to know what they'd been fighting about. And he knew a better way to make Claire regret her decision to make him uncomfortable.

"We had a lovely time, thank you. Jones is very good at what he does."

Claire gave him a revolted look but Dan just smiled. We're both adults, his look told her. We should be able to talk about this sort of thing. Claire tried to smile back.

"It sounded like it. Does he always ram you in the arse or do you take turns?"

Dan let that statement hang in the air long enough for Claire to start fidgeting and regret that she'd said it before replying.

"We have done it the other way round," he said casually, glancing slyly at his sister who was starting to blush a deep red. across her cheeks. "But he prefers to be on top. And I prefer being on the bottom, so to speak. And he doesn't ram, that's a terrible phrase. Are you hanging out with Barley again?"

"No!" Claire shot back and Dan grinned quickly because she was properly flustered now. "But you two seem to go at it pretty hard. Do you ever take a break or have you just been shagging non-stop out here? I've been worrying about what you're going to do once this holiday is over and you haven't thought about the future one bit have you? You've been too busy letting him... do that to you!"

Ah, Dan thought, Claire was worried. Well, that explained why she was so prickly. But he could do something to help her on that front at least.

"Claire," he said slowly, using the same voice that he used when talking Jones out of his panic. "I have fifty thousand of SugarApe's pounds in the bank. I'm going to be fine. And I'm not worrying about what I'm going to do when we leave here because I don't want to think about leaving here until Jones is good and ready. I don't even know whether he'll want to go back to London. I don't know if I want him to go back to that house, not if it means going back to a place that's boarded up and graffitied and a big fucking reminder of all the shit that happened to him."

"Harry, Ned, Toby and Rufus are getting it fixed up actually," Claire said in a small voice and Dan could see how much she just wanted to be helpful, even if, like him, she was rubbish at showing it.

"Thanks."

"It's fine," she shrugged. "Rufus mentioned a writing competition you might be interested in as well. Some 'Voice of a Generation' type thing. I didn't know if you'd be interested or whether you still wanted to write at all but... You're a good writer, Dan. I don't know if I've ever actually said that to you, but you are..."

"Thank you," Dan said again, softly.

He thought back to the notebook and how Jones had spent the first half hour of that morning kissing every inch of Dan he could reach whilst reciting back his favourite parts and explaining why Dan was the best writer he'd ever read. Perhaps it was worth a shot. He wanted to give Claire a hug and go inside where it was warm but there was one more thing he needed to make sure Claire was clear on.

"We haven't just been out here shagging like rabbits, by the way."

"Look, Dan. I really don't need to-"

"Yes, you obviously do, Claire, or you wouldn't have brought it up," he spoke over her with more venom than necessary and forced himself to relax. "But its not like... Claire..." She was looking at him now with infuriating sympathy and he suddenly, desperately wanted to just tell her everything. It had to be better than talking to his mum about his sex life.

"Dan?"

"Last night was... the first time since..."

And suddenly Claire was holding him in a hug tighter than any he'd given her and he wanted to cry and tell her just how much it had meant to him, that Jones finally wanted to be with him again. And how amazing it had been to wake up to Jones' warm skin against his the next morning and how Jones had kissed him and kissed him, like a door had been reopened after being locked for so long and Jones was only just remembering that they could exist as something beautiful together. And how overwhelmingly important it had been to be able to lay himself bare and trust Jones with his body and heart.

So he did.

And when he was done they shared a cigarette in silence, before the rain started again and forced them back inside where, it seemed, Christmas wasn't quite ready to end after all.